


As the World Falls Down

by GenuineAngel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Comfort, First Meetings, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pre-Canon, falling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 02:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19802470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenuineAngel/pseuds/GenuineAngel
Summary: Contrary to what many believe, Crowley and Aziraphale met before the Fall. Crowley doesn't remember, though... maybe it's better that way.





	As the World Falls Down

**Author's Note:**

> The story behind this began as a headcanon-off between friends that got out of hand. I had to write it because it was haunting me. Maybe sharing the pain will help?
> 
> I recommend listening to Lena Hall's cover of As the World Falls Down before/after/during this fic.

_Aziraphale’s fingers trembled as he brushed a strand of dark hair away from his friend’s eyelashes. The ache in his own heart paled in comparison to the pain that obviously wracked the body cradled in his lap. The angel watched on helplessly as the face of his companion contorted with another wash of anguish._

_Falling wasn’t something Aziraphale had seen before. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. The real punishment, as he understood it, was meant to be separation from The Almighty. He had thought that this might be accompanied by a sudden drop or a burst of searing Hellfire to mark the occasion._

_The reality was so much worse._

\--------------

Over the last few days*, Aziraphale had watched in awe as the newly created skies were hung with dazzling stars. He was drawn to the patterns they made. The more he stared, the more the lights flung haphazardly across the deep blue-black tapestry of space seemed to link up into pictures. He took each and every spare moment he found to sneak away from his own tasks and gaze up at the newly forming constellations.

_*Or, more accurately, a period of time amounting to what we now know as days. At that point the earth itself had only existed for a short while and no one had really started keeping track of time based on how it spun._

“Admiring my handiwork?”

Aziraphale started and turned sheepishly to face the new arrival.

“Oh. Uh….” he didn’t know how to respond. The angels who hung the stars didn’t usually talk to him. If they passed each other in the halls they might nod politely, but no one ever stopped to chat. This angel, with their dark hair and slightly crooked smile, was going entirely against protocol. Weren’t they? Possibly. Very probably. Was it protocol not to talk to people outside one’s own department? Who had decided that, exactly? It seemed a funny thing for someone to write down. ‘ _Interdepartmental fraternising will not be tolerated.’_ Surely there weren’t any actual laws that stated such. It just wasn’t _done_. 

Now that Aziraphale looked at them, he couldn’t imagine this particular angel nodding politely to anyone. He’d seen them before, always part of a large group of angels far above their station. How they had managed to squeeze their way into such company, Aziraphale could only guess. Possibly it had something to do with the way they talked, fast and authoritative and always with a positively alluring smile.

The blonde angel’s brow furrowed as his mind ran rampant over the possible ramifications of engaging in conversation. He realised, panicked, that he was probably expected to actually _say_ something now. His shoulders sagged in relief as the newcomer saved him the trouble.

“Well it's nice to know that _someone_ appreciates craftsmanship.”

“Oh, absolutely!” Aziraphale burst out, turning back to the stars and gesturing openly. “How could anyone not?”

The newcomer blinked in surprise. Aziraphale, stunned by his own enthusiasm, chided himself silently and was just about to apologise when he noticed that the other angel’s crooked smile had become a fully developed grin.

“Most don't seem to care. All too caught up in whatever they’ve got going on, I suppose. No time for star-gazing.”

“Star-gazing?”

“What you’re doing now. What you’ve been doing on and off since they started going up, actually. Or did you think nobody would notice?”

Aziraphale cringed, but the other angel’s expression wasn’t unkind.

“While you’re at it,” they continued, still smiling, “why don’t you help me out? I’ve been told to make up names for some new constellations. Never been my strong suit, personally. Naming things.”

“Oh, could I?!” Aziraphale paused. His internal monologue waged a quick war between his growing love for this beautiful new world and a desperate need to stick steadfastly to what was expected of him. “I mean… it’s not really my place.”

“Why don’t we work on it together?” The dark haired angel coaxed. “You're out here looking at them anyway. There’s nothing stopping us from having a friendly conversation now and then. If you _happen_ to mention some interesting ideas in the process, well…”

A moment passed as Aziraphale contemplated this. Strictly speaking, there weren’t any actual _rules_ against talking. Not that he could recall, anyway. He did enjoy looking out at the newly created clusters of twinkling light. He relished the idea that he could have some positive influence over what they were named. Beyond that, though, the idea that someone might actually be interested in what he thought was positively seductive. No one really paid any attention to Aziraphale, except to give him instructions. He didn’t have anyone to pass the time with in - what had they called it? - ‘friendly conversation’. He hadn’t realised how desperately he wanted someone like that. In this moment, though, it seemed like the most important thing in the newly created universe.

Aziraphale turned back to face the newcomer, building the courage to look him in the eye. Deep, golden brown eyes that seemed to reflect the stars. Somewhere beneath the twinkle of mischief there Aziraphale felt a strange sort of melancholy. It was a feeling he recognised. He knew what it was to be constantly surrounded and at the same time completely alone.

“Yes,” Aziraphale murmured. Then, more firmly, “yes. I think I’d like that.”

\---------------------------

_Who knows what they will be when they wake up._

_Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat. While his heart broke for the fragile form in his hands, another, less selfless voice screamed for his own loss. The loss of what had been his for so short a time. This angel - this_ Fallen _angel - had brought Aziraphale more joy in the brief moments they had spent together than all the uncountable lonely time before had managed to provide. But he knew what angels became when they Fell. He knew that each wave of pain swept his friend further from him, replaced them with something twisted, something_ evil. 

_He knew he should leave. Should flee whatever this angel in his lap was about to become. Should never have followed, diving through the air, desperate fingers reaching for more than just a physical form, grasping, hopelessly trying to pull them back to him. Even as he caught their body and drew them close he knew they were already beyond his reach. But he couldn’t leave them like this, pain wracking their once celestial form. When the ground came up to meet them it met them both, Aziraphale's desperate attempts to slow their descent only partially successful. The pain in his knees was nothing, though, if it meant he could channel healing energy into his companion's unconscious body._

_Within the mind of the Fallen any and all memories that might bring them joy were being ripped away. Invisible fingers worked meticulously, slowly unwinding threads of the essence that had been an angel and was now becoming something very different indeed._

_So Aziraphale sat, cradling them gently in his lap, hoping no one would notice his absence. They probably wouldn’t. The only one who ever really had was here, unconscious in his arms._

\---------------------------

“How about Delphinus?”

This was the way all their meetings had gone. Sitting together in companionable silence, gazing out at the ever expanding universe. Eventually one of them would point out a cluster of lights and explain the image it conjured in their head. Sometimes they disagreed about what that image was, and that was almost better. It led to enthusiastic debates punctuated with wild gesticulations. Long, winding stories that seemed to lose their way ten times and end with both parties suppressing laughter. Slowly the mirth would subside and they’d fall back into silence. After a while, Aziraphale would suggest a name.

This time, the dark haired angel had pointed out five glowing points of light. They’d said, reclining casually against their arms, how the shape reminded them of a fish. Aziraphale couldn’t see that. They looked, he thought, more like a flower bud about to bloom. There were no good stories about flowers, though, so a fish it had become.

“Delphinus? Dolphin? Dolphins aren’t fish.”

“Don’t be pedantic, my dear.” Aziraphale paused, watching his companion’s face closely. He didn’t know when the pet names had started. They seemed to come to him as naturally as though he’d been using them since the beginning of existence. Maybe he would have, too, if he’d had anyone to call pet names. His friend didn’t seem to mind.

“Well, they aren’t. But I guess this could be a dolphin _instead_ of a fish,” the dark haired angel conceded.

“That’s very kind of you.”

“We’ll need a different story to go with our new dolphin, though.”

“I thought you only needed names?”

“I do. The stories are just for us.”

Aziraphale felt his heart climb out of its proper place and into his throat. He looked quickly to his companion. They were staring off into the sparkling sky, apparently oblivious to the effect their words had on Aziraphale’s innards.

“Why not,” they continued, “a story where the dolphin is a messenger. A link between two lovers, separated by the sea.”

“Why are the lovers separated?”

The angel shrugged. “They wanted to get married. But they couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Aziraphale prompted.

“Because!" They waved an exasperated hand. "Do I have to come up with everything on my own?"

Aziraphale just blinked at them and smiled. He knew they were just buying time as the story unravelled in their mind.

"Fine. Because one felt they weren’t good enough for the other, so they went on a quest to improve themselves. Become worthy.”

“Oh, my. That sounds perilous.”

“The more peril you go through, the more worthy you are. That’s how these things work, angel.” They turned to Aziraphale, fixing him with a matter-of-fact look.

“Is it really? I’m not entirely sure that’s true.”

“It is in this story, because I’m the one telling it.” The smile that accompanied this landed somewhere between defiance and mischief.

“Very well, then. Will the lovers ever be together again, once this peril has been endured?”

“Obviously. The dolphin will carry the traveller back to their lover, however long it takes. It wouldn’t be any fun without a happy ending.”

\------------------

_He couldn't be sure how long he'd sat that way, curled around his only friend. He did know that the effort of trying to offset the pain with healing energy had left him utterly exhausted. Finally, after what could have been an eternity, his companion's breathing slowed and evened out. Their face relaxed. The pain ebbed away._

_Aziraphale sighed softly. He knew he couldn't be there when they woke. Completely spent of any energy, he would be powerless against whatever it was his friend had become. He lowered his head, pressing a gentle kiss between dark curls. Somehow this motion conveyed all the heartache and love coursing through him. It was a silent thank you for the time they’d spent together, drawing Aziraphale out of his shell, making him believe that he was worth more than he had ever dreamed before. It was an apology, desperate and broken, for not having been there for them in the same way, for not seeing the signs._

_It was a farewell._

_Then he stood, carefully arranging the form of what had once been an angel so that when their eyes opened again they would be facing the stars._

\------------------

Aziraphale was late. Very late.

He’d probably been caught up somewhere, the dark haired angel reasoned. A task that took longer than expected. A superior officer who had palmed off responsibility onto him instead. While they were sure it wasn’t Aziraphale’s intention to stand them up, the process of staring out at the sky entirely lost its magic without him there. They considered leaving, but they didn’t really have anything else to do. So they sat, and they waited, hoping the blonde angel might appear, flustered and full of apologies for being tardy.

But when someone did come past it wasn’t Aziraphale. Lucifer and his gaggle of followers called them over, asked where they’d been.

 _“Haven’t seen you around lately,”_ Lucifer said, “ _found someone more interesting to occupy your time?”_

The dark haired angel laughed, gave a casual shrug, and brushed it off. Aziraphale wasn’t the sort of angel that this crew would have gotten along with. Best to keep him out of their thoughts entirely.

 _“Been worked to the bone, haven’t you?”_ Lucifer nodded in the direction of the newly formed nebula the angel had been gazing out at. _“Even when you’re not on the clock you’re thinking about those blasted lights. It’s completely unreasonable. You need a break.”_

Not long before this moment, the dark haired angel would have agreed with Lucifer. Recently, though, they had found a new appreciation for their work. The knowledge that back in the halls someone was watching, appreciating each new sparkle, had brought on a new sense of purpose. Not that they’d ever admit it, of course. They had a reputation to uphold.

“Right.” they managed. Not terribly convincing, perhaps, but Lucifer was on a roll and didn’t seem to notice.

_“Which is exactly what we’re on our way to talk about, actually. You should join us. Unionise. Demand better working conditions for us all.”_

They searched quickly for an excuse to stay, to wait for Aziraphale, but came up short. Defeated, they joined the group of disgruntled angels. As they walked away, lagging at the rear of the pack, they spared a final glance over their shoulder - just in case those golden curls were rounding a corner. But they weren’t.

\---------------------

_It was a nice day. All the days had been nice._

_Aziraphale stood looking out at the horizon. He was alone, but that wasn’t unusual, here on Earth or in Heaven. In Heaven, though, he_ felt _alone. So when they had asked for volunteers to head down and stand watch over the Garden, solo missions almost no reasonable angel would deign to spend time on, Aziraphale was quick to volunteer. His selflessness had been met with polite, half-hearted applause, and everyone promptly forgot about him again._

_He’d never admit to having any ulterior motives in taking up his watch over the Eastern Gate. No one could ever know that, deep at the back of his mind, a small voice wondered if they might find a familiar face down there. It would have been ridiculous, anyway, to hope that they would come across one another again. Completely foolish, even, to imagine that if they did cross paths, the being that had once been his friend would retain any semblance of their former self._

_So when they_ did _slide in beside him on the ramparts, Aziraphale almost didn’t notice._

 _“Well, that went down like a lead balloon."_

_The flood of emotion, of hope and joy and a tinge of fear because_ what had they become _threatened to overwhelm him. He would have recognised that voice anywhere, from a million lightyears away. He reached out with his senses, searching for the essence of the figure beside him and found_ evil. _His heart sank. It was only to be expected._

_“I’m sorry,” he said politely, “what was it you were saying?”_

_But there was something else, he realised, continuing his tentative search of the supernatural energy. Something glowing deeper down, some spark that the evil hadn’t managed to touch._

_“I_ said _,” the serpent continued, “that one went down like a lead balloon.”_

Good _. That was what Aziraphale felt, flowing like a current beneath the icy cold shell of the demon. Perhaps - was it possible? - perhaps his efforts during his companion’s Fall hadn’t been as useless as he had thought._

_“Oh,” he breathed, realising he had probably better say something, “yes.”_

_They didn’t remember the time they had spent together in Heaven, Aziraphale knew. Couldn’t remember. Every memory that brought joy to their angelic form had been stripped from them in the Fall. It was a blessing, in a way. The knowledge of what they had lost might well have broken them._

_So Aziraphale kept those memories safe in his heart for them both. He knew that it was his own healing energy that had kept his friend from plummeting completely into the depths of depravity. That was enough, for now._


End file.
